Promised Delivery
by vashluver1
Summary: One should rather die than be betrayed. There is no deceit in death. It delivers precisely what it has promised. Betrayal, though… Betrayal is the willful slaughter of hope. Steven Deitz
1. Introduction

**Disclaimer- I do not own Bones in any way, shape, or form. Poor me…

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"_One should rather die than be betrayed. There is no deceit in death. It delivers precisely what it has promised. Betrayal, though… Betrayal is the willful slaughter of hope." _

–_Steven Deitz (American Playwright and Dramatist b. 1958)

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**Washington D.C. November 14th, 2002**

**Thursday 9:26am**

I died that day. I couldn't stop. Death is all around me. It smothers me, constantly bringing me down. Death wants to grab hold of me: an invitation that will never expire.

Humans are bound to the mortal coil. We don't like to think about it: death. But we know it's always there lurking in the shadows. Sometimes it surprises you; stabbed in the back; betrayed by death.

I couldn't escape it. Humans are different. We are always different… dead or alive. In this reality, there is no distinction between right and wrong: the melodramatic white side and black side. In this reality, we have the gray population.

Betrayal isn't evil. Betrayal helped him rise in the ranks of life. He rose above us to prove something to his friends, but more importantly, to himself.

I blame myself. I curse the death that suffocates me. Every day, people die, mostly by the hands of other humans. The blood is on all of us. The blood is on me. I blame myself.

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**Washington D.C. November 14th, 2001**

**Wednesday 10:00pm**

Dr. Temperance Brennan pulled her knees to her chest and hugged herself tightly. Rocking back and forth, shivering under a dark, dank bridge, Temperance whimpered weakly.

The famous forensic doctor was wearing a white, off the shoulder sleeve dress made of thin material, damp with sweat. Her hair was dripping from the rain pouring on both sides. Claustrophobic and sick with hypothermia, Temperance shut her eyes firmly trying desperately to ward off the deafening voices calling out to her from within.

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_**AN- So yeah… this is a really short chapter. I know. Jesse Falling dared me to write an angst fic… I'm not totally excited about this story. Probably because I'm not a huge fan of angst, but here goes. What the hell, right? I really don't know where I'm going with this, but the whole theme of the story is right here in the first chapter. Please review. Encourage me to continue and I'll write longer chapters. Thank you!**_


	2. Oblivious Murderer

_**Disclaimer- I don't own Bones.

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**Paris November 3rd, 2001**

**Monday 4:00am**

The shrill ring of a cell phone jolted the very awake Temperance Brennan out of her bed. She raced to the opposite end of her hotel suite to her purse in record time. She pulled out her cell phone. It was too dark to see the caller ID, but she guessed who it was:

"Brennan," Tempe indicated that she was on the line.

"Hey Bones! I expect you've been waiting for my call?" The voice of Special Agent Seeley Booth comforted Temperance more than he knew. For the first time in her career, Temperance was homesick and also terrified for her life.

She tried to calm her shaking voice. "I haven't been _waiting _for you to call! I was sleeping very soundly until you woke me up."

"Oh right! It's around 4am over there right?" Tempe could almost hear Booth smirking all the way in Washington D.C.

"Yeah, but it's ok. So ugh… what did you need?" she asked.

Booth instantly became solemn. "Don't play dumb, Temperance. I know you like to be all independent and shit, but this is serious! You asked for my help, reluctantly, I can tell, but I'm _going_ to help you." He stopped, expecting a smart-ass reply, but the opposite line was silent except for Tempe's unsteady breaths.

Unknown to the FBI agent on the other end, a dark figure loomed in the window of Temperance's room. He was standing in front of the gauzy lavender curtains, backlit by a street lamp. He seemed to have just appeared out of nowhere. Tempe could see his upright, index finger slowly move to his lips as a warning. Temperance shivered and nodded slightly.

"Temperance?" Booth said after a few seconds. "Bones!"

She kept an eye on what she guessed was a man from his build as she replied, "I'm here, Booth."

"Good. Now here's what you need to do. When you get off the phone with me, I'm going to buy a ticket straight to Paris. The bureau is putting you under my protection again. I'm going to escort you back to Washington D.C. and keep you with me at all times until we catch the bastard that's been threatening you. Are we clear?"

"Y-yeah…" Temperance's eyes widened as she noticed the man inching closer. _God…God… God… If I live to see him…_

"Good. Now go back to sleep. I'll be there at 3:30pm your time. Just stay in the hotel until I arrive. Got it?" Temperance consented. "Please, Temperance. No vendettas. Do nothing that could jeopardize your life. I'd die if anything…" Booth sighed. "I'll see you tomorrow… or well… Today." Tempe heard the deafening click of the line as Booth hung up.

Despite the draft in the suite, she was sweating. Crouched on the floor still holding the cell phone to her ear and her hand in her purse, she watched as the man drew nearer. Not wanting to make any sudden movements, she was rigid. The second the man was within two feet of her, a loud BANG could be heard in almost every room of the hotel.

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**Paris November 3rd, 2001**

Monday 3:43pm 

Temperance was gradually waking up from a very unsettling dream. In her dream, she began to feel relaxed as she found herself floating on her back in the open sea, staring straight at the sun without blinding herself.

It took a couple minutes for Tempe to come to, but she found herself staring into the warm, sympathetic eyes of her friend and partner, Seeley Booth who was softly rubbing her back.

"Booth?" His hand fell from her back as she sat up to look at the bedside clock, which read 15:43. "I slept the whole day away!"

Booth was silent, just staring at the woman oblivious to the crime scene going on outside, below her window. He was the one to tell her.

Tempe closed her eyes and ran her hands through her hair. Thinking back on her dream, the details beginning to disappear into fog, she looked at her hands and screamed.

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_**AN- I'm worried I'm not doing this right. This fic may seem very horrorish and suspenseful… which means I'm doing my job! The tragedy will come soon, I promise. Just tell me how I'm doing so far. I hope these cliffhangers are actually well… cliffy! They seem so pitiful to me. Thank you for the reviews. I'm glad a few of you want me to continue this. That's what I'm doing. Please review some more! Thank you.**_


	3. Consequences

**Disclaimer- I don't own Bones.

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**Paris November 3rd, 2001**

**Monday 3:43pm**

Seeley Booth followed Temperance's line of sight and gasped. Her hands were covered in dried blood. It was incriminating evidence enough. He just didn't want to believe it.

"What the hell happened, Temperance!" He looked into her frightened eyes. "There's a dead – no – murdered body outside your window. Do you know anything about that?"

"Oh God, it's true. The dream…" She started shivering.

Booth tried to calm her down. He put his hands on her shoulders to make her face him. "What dream, Temperance?"

"I- I don't know! It… You called me. I saw someone in front of my window. He kept coming. I didn't know what to do. There was a gun… I u- used – I killed him… and God…" Tears spilled from her eyes.

Booth pulled her to him. She rested her cheek on his chest. He could feel her tears soaking through his suit. The sensitive side of him said to comfort her and interrogate the next day. His business side told him to grill her here and now. He was angry and confused. _Fuck my job!_

"You're coming with me, Bones."

Tempe looked up at him. "Are you taking me to jail?" Guilt was swimming in her azure eyes.

"Of course not, Bones. You're innocent until proven guilty." He grinned trying his best to lighten the mood.

"Don't make this a joke, Booth." She wrenched herself from his arms and stood up from her bed. "I might have actually killed a human being. I'm the person that I work to put behind bars! Even if they don't put me into jail, then I'd still have to be around you all the time… to make sure I don't do anything." She turned away from the FBI agent still kneeling by her bed.

"Is that so bad?" Booth asked.

Temperance turned back to him, furious. "You'd be my fucking _jail keeper_, Booth! This isn't a trip to the fucking park!"

Booth wasn't used to Tempe cursing. He was in uncharted waters. Never in his partnership with Temperance had he thought this would happen. For the first time in his life, he didn't know what to do.

"We'll work this out, Bones." He stood up and tried to rest his hand on her shoulder, but she jerked away.

She took out some of her travel equipment: a small plastic Ziploc bag, usually used to store small bones and a cotton ball. She used the cotton ball to scrub some of the dried blood off her hands and into the bag for analysis. She focused on the chips of blood falling off her hand and into the bag.

Booth admired her persistence to solve the case even though she was the prime suspect. He was sure the blood belonged to the body outside her window, but one can never be too sure.

When Temperance finished, she went into the bathroom to wash the rest of the blood from her hands. Booth took this time to look around the suite. He walked the perimeter of the room paying close attention to the floor and walls, his eyes roaming up, down, and side-to-side. He spent extra time at the spot where he perceived the actual murder had taken place.

Booth heard the shower start in the bathroom. His eyebrows furrowed knowing that witnesses and victims in these situations often took extra long showers not only to clean their bodies, but also to scour away the unpleasant memories.

Booth sat on the bed staring sadly at the door to the bathroom. He turned around to see something shiny and silver glinting from inside the wall above the headboard. On closer inspection, he realized it was a bullet. _I don't know much about forensic anthropology, but I do know guns. The bullet that killed that man was shot from below him. Even if it did go through his skull, which I doubt, it would have gotten stuck in the ceiling. There was more than one shot fired last night. …But that makes no sense. Witnesses said they only heard one shot. _"Unless that's not how he died…"

"Unless that's not how who died?" Temperance asked behind him. He'd said that aloud. Booth turned around to see Tempe clad in lavender robe that perfectly matched the long curtains currently smeared with blood. Her hair was dripping from her shower and she smelled sweetly of cinnamon. Booth hadn't noticed her come up behind him.

"Your guy may have not died from that bullet you shot. This bullet, I believe, came from a Beretta 92FS handgun," Booth explained.

"That's the one I had," said Temperance.

"That's also the one you stole from me."

"I didn't steal it! I… borrowed it without asking, but I had every intention of returning it," she said, defensive as usual.

Booth narrowed his eyes. "Is there a reason you thought you needed a gun on a business trip to Paris?" he asked.

Temperance looked away from his mysterious brown eyes boring into the side of her cheek. "I've just had… experiences in Paris. I thought it was best to be on the safe side. You won't tell Cullen, will you?" she looked back.

"What kind of experiences?" Booth ignored the question. Before she could reply, Booth's cell phone broke the silence. He dug through his pocket and answered. "Booth… Oh God… Stay where you are!" He hung up. "Bones, we're leaving!" He got up from the bed.

"Why? What happened?" She didn't move.

Booth took hold of her upper arm and dragged her out of the room. "We're getting the fuck out of here! Now!"

**Washington D.C. November 14th, 2002**

**Thursday 9:26am**

We didn't know what to do. All we _could _do was run. But we had no place to go. Nowhere was safe. But he was there the whole time, protecting me and guiding me. It was short lived. There was nothing I could do. There is no one to blame but myself.

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_**AN: I thank you ALL for the reviews. They're very encouraging. This is still mysteryish and horrorish. I apologize again. Hang in there. It's coming. Yes, I'm taking advantage of the M rating and throwing some swearing in there. There might be some mild sex scenes later on. But for now, keep reading and reviewing. I'll update as soon as possible. **_


	4. Knowing Fear

**_Disclaimer- I don't own Bones.

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**Paris November 3rd, 2001**

**Monday 4:00pm**

Seeley dragged Temperance down a hotel corridor. Knowing he had no time to wait for an elevator opened the door to the emergency stairway and darted down jumping quickly over the small steps.

Temperance looked down at her robe flapping as she ran, exposing her upper legs. "Booth! I'm not dressed!" she yelled, huffing and puffing down the stairwell.

"I don't care, Bones! It's your fault you took a shower at a fucking crime scene!" Booth reprimanded.

Temperance was speechless. She pursed her lips, wondering what the hell had made Booth rush her off so quickly. She was confused and angry, not to mention dripping wet and practically naked.

Booth had gotten the phone call, completely oblivious to what had happened on the ground floor outside Tempe's window. An agent called him, his young voice shaking in fear, informing Booth of the twenty something bloody personnel lying on the ground outside. The agent saw an armed man walk into the hotel.

The amateur agent had just gotten back from another dead body near the Louvre, stuffed in a dumpster in a nearby ally. Booth was terrified, but not for himself. Someone had attempted to kill his partner, his girl, his Bones. And he was terrified. The FBI agent who could think on his feet in any situation, the brave Seeley Booth was terrified. It was pathetic really. Someone had killed another person and stuffed them in a dumpster next to one of the most famous museums in the cultured world. Yes, he was terrified.

They sprinted out the back door. Booth stopped so Temperance could catch her breath. "Booth, what the hell is going on!" she glared at him.

"Everyone is dead. Everyone working on the case is dead. The guy that killed them is in the hotel, with a gun. And it's not safe."

"No…" she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Is it every safe, Seeley?" she asked softly.

Booth was silent, hiding in his look of solemnity.

"Look… I can't do anything without shoes," Tempe said.

Fear sighed. "I wish there was something I could do, but it's dicey to go out to my car. I've got some extra boots in them, but I'm not gonna risk the run. Thank God this isn't a dead end."

"Yeah…" Tempe leaned against the door.

"We should get going," Booth said.

Behind the building, where they stood, was a back lot. It had a narrow road leading out from it, lined by a red no-parking curb. The lot was empty and surrounded by birch trees, which covered the road well. They decided to use the road as an escape route.

Booth urged her to walk quickly despite her unprotected feet. She picked her way through crunchy brown leaves and twigs as fast as she could.

They were silent along the way. The road finally ended as it intersected into a two-lane street through an alley between two brick buildings. They sped up out of the alley and found themselves in front of a small café. Knowing there might be a clothes shop somewhere close by, Seeley and Temperance turned left onto the sidewalk and continued walking.

Temperance received multiple honks and stares from obnoxious men driving on the road, catcalling her through the windows. She ignored them but her face reddened in embarrassment. Soon enough, though, they found a little boutique. Luckily, Booth had his wallet in his suit pocket to pay for jeans, a plain black long sleeved shirt, and flip-flops. She stuffed her robe into the boutique bag as they walked out of the shop.

"Thanks, Booth." She bared the slightest smile. Booth nodded in acknowledgement. Her smile disappeared. "We should get a cab. It'd be faster than walking and I still don't know where we're going."

"The Louvre. There's a body in a dumpster near there." His voice cracked a little, letting Tempe know how uneasy he was.

Temperance whistled shrilly, signaling a taxicab. It pulled in front of them. The driver rolled down the window. "_À la Louvre, s'il vous plaît_." To the Louvre, please.

"_D'accord_," the man replied. Ok. Booth opened the back door for Temperance and followed her in, closing the door. The driver drove off.

Twenty minutes later, they were still in traffic. "_Merde_!" the driver cursed and honked. Shit. "_Allez! Allez!_" Go! Go!

"_Ici, monsieur. Merci_," said Temperance. Here, sir. Thank you. Booth handed him fifteen euros. They got out in the middle of the street and rushed to the sidewalk. They were just a block away from the museum.

"This is where the body is supposed to be," said Booth. They walked a few meters and saw a flash of yellow in an ally. They turned into it and saw caution tape and a cadaver lying on the ground. There were people everywhere: agents interrogating witnesses, a coroner carefully placing the corpse into a body bag, and a few journalists.

Seeley and Temperance ducked under the caution tape. Tempe b-lined straight to the coroner and began talking anthropology details. Booth walked over to an FBI agent who just snapped his cell phone shut. "_Bonjour_," greeted Booth.

"_Bonjour, monsieur. Je m'appelle Agent Jacques Hurst. Et vous?_" Agent Hurst looked at Booth expectantly.

"Uh… _Anglais, s'il vous plaît_?" Booth requested English.

"Of course." Hurst's voice was heavily accented. "Your name, _monsieur_?" he asked.

"Special Agent Seeley Booth of the FBI. My colleague was here about an hour ago. He called me here to look things over," he explained.

"Ah and who is this colleague?"

"Agent Tom Mendelson."

"_Oui,_ he was here not too long ago. But who is that beautiful woman you brought with you?" Hurst inquired, looking at Temperance who was briefly examining the body.

Booth followed his gaze. "That's my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan." Hurst's face lit up.

"Dr. Brennan is a genius. I read her book. _C'est magnifique_!"

Temperance stood up from her squatting position and heard her knees crack. She wiped her hands on her jeans and turned to Booth. He joined her, followed by Agent Hurst, who introduced himself.

He expressed his love for her book before getting to business. "_Alors_, I see it didn't take you too long to find the body, _docteur_."

"Yes, Agent Hurst. It's a fresh cadaver. Your pathologist will have no trouble in IDing it. I'd say the victim died less than twenty-four hours ago. It's a Caucasoid female. The flesh hasn't decomposed long enough to darken or lighten the skin. She looks young, probably late teens to early twenties, but it's not easy to tell. The autopsy will report cause of death and age. The coroner is taking the victim to the morgue as we speak. There's not much more I can…"

Gunshots echoed in the ally. "You think you can run away from me, _pute_?" Whore. "Dead end, bitch!" A tall burly man stood in the entrance to the ally with his gun in the air.

Booth located a ladder just two feet away leading to the roof of one of the building they were between. He grabbed Tempe and pushed her up. They climbed quickly, Booth covering her as they scaled the wall.

"This is for Jack!" They heard it faintly, mingling with never-ending gunshots as they ran across the rooftop, breathless and… terrified.

**Washington D.C. November 14th, 2002**

**Thursday 9:26pm**

Jack. We thought nothing of it. Jack. It echoes. We didn't realize how important that moment was until it was too late. Betrayed by death. Jack. Jack. Jack.

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_**AN- You guys are wonderful. Thanks for the reviews. I realize that you don't really understand the point of this story. Something important was hinted in this chapter! Sorry for the long delay. Keep reviewing! Thank you.**_


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